Unsaid
by Vivinette
Summary: He supposes the best way to convey what he's thinking is to say nothing at all. She seems to read him perfectly. George Weasley and Padma Patil.


Hello there! It turns out that I am indeed alive. I was in a rather sad mood, thinking about the end of the Deathly Hallows, a book I hate so much that I refuse to accept it as the actual final installment of the Harry Potter series. Well...I suppose I accept it a little. My little mushy one-shot here consists with it, after all. Anyway, this takes place during the second wizarding war.

Enjoy!

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Her manner was soft and controlled; her eyes, in glancing over the glossy pink bottle in her hand, were deeply contemplative. A little too contemplative. Like she was exerting all mental power into focusing on that little object in order to distract herself from something more pressing. George Weasley studied her from atop the staircase of Weasley's Wizarding Weezes, scrutinizing her small form amongst all the buzzing and honking and laughter that whizzed around them. Her solemnity made her stand out.

He began to descend the steps, making a bee-line towards her. His energy almost surprised him. It had been a very long time since he had shown this much sincere intent on a customer. He usually just opened the shop every day, pasted on a plastic smile for a few minutes and then disappeared into the back room, letting the other workers handle business while he sat darkly in his cluttered office. However, something about this young woman had truly caught his attention, and he was bent on figuring out what exactly it was.

"Fancy a love potion?" was his greeting to her. She broke her concentration and looked up at him. His eyebrows rose instantly as he saw her more clearly, looking over the sharp, serious lines of her face.

"Say," his inquisition flew out faster than he expected, "don't I know you?"

Her face became taut with confusion, as if she was wondering why he had spoken to her.

"I suppose so," she answered after a few seconds of hesitation, "I'm Padma. Padma Patil. Two years under you at Hogwarts when we were in school."

He recognized her then immediately, not because she had been strikingly popular or accomplished or that the two of them had a particularly profound history together, but because she was one half of the only other set of twins at Hogwarts besides the Fred and him. He then took notice of how stiff her shoulders looked and how washed out her eyes were and reasoned that until then, he thought it was physically impossible for anyone besides himself to look that sad in a joke shop—and _his_, no less. Perhaps that was why he felt so drawn to her at the moment.

"Ah, yes," he said, cracking a small smile, "I do remember you. You had the pleasure of being my silly little brother's date for the Yule Ball."

Padma nodded, a brief look of reminiscence flashing across her features.

"Erm…yeah," she replied lamely, "good times."

He almost chuckled at her words, realizing that that night had probably been one of the worst she'd ever experienced. It was almost kind of endearing the way she hid the fact so poorly from him. He quickly changed the subject though.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked, "You don't seem like someone who'd be fond of pranks and what not."

She looked back at the pink bottle in her hand, the ghost of a laugh flitting across her eyes.

"Oh, well," she said, "I was just trying to pick out a gift for someone."

"Is this someone a mess romantically?" George motioned gallantly towards the love potions, "because this is bonafide stuff, right here, I guarantee you madam."

She fingered the heart-shaped cork of the bottle and pursed her lips.

"I don't think this person would actually be using the potion," said Padma, "it'd be a gag gift at most, really."

"A gag gift? From this shop?" he inquired, "I do believe that is redundancy at its finest…I don't understand."

He took a step towards her and she immediately became withdrawn. She set the bottle down and retreated slightly, obviously wanting to make for the exit.

"Oh, it's nothing. I…I wasn't being serious," she said while hastily flicking through some stray strands of hair, "I don't even know why I'm in here."

He stared oddly at her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "Love potions make fine gifts, given you know the receiver well. A mere acquaintance might be insulted though. Is this a close friend of yours?"

Padma's gaze fell to the floor. "My sister, actually. Parvati. She's at St. Mungo's right now."

"St. Mungo's? Why?"

He saw her become increasingly uncomfortable under his prodding. Grim color painted her cheeks as she spoke.

"She was caught in the middle of a…" Her eyelids became heavy and she averted her vision towards the ceiling to hold them up. "…a Deatheater raid."

He inhaled sharply. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Padma."

Her legs shook slightly and she emitted a very uncharacteristic, very humorless laugh.

"Yeah, it's… ," she said, awkwardly picking at the tweed of her coat, "it's really bad. She's been like that for weeks. All the healers are vague about what's happening to her, as if they know it's something that can't be reversed and they don't want to tell me, for fear of me breaking down. Not that I'm not on the verge of that already. She can't speak. She's just lying there, frozen, and looking so…so unfamiliar."

In her last word, her voice faltered. The pain she had been keeping in had become very evident now, and he was looking at her with the deepest of empathy. It had been a while since he'd actually seen a person on the shaky edges of tears besides himself in the mirror. His isolation for the past month or so had left him numb to sorrow other than his own, but now he was feeling something very strong between Padma and him—two people who had never really had much in common except for one thing. That one thing was no more for him. He knew she was worried that it would soon disappear for her too.

"Padma, I…" he searched miserably for the right words to say to her, scanning the happy interior of his shop. His eyes then returned to love potions on the table next to them. Grabbing one, he offered it to her.

"Well, you said you wanted a gift," he suggested, "so how about you take this for free?"

"Oh George, it's all right," she told him, "I don't need—"

"No, no," he interrupted, "take it…"

She was startled when he snatched her hand and pressed the bottle firmly against its palm. His fingers were warm over hers. Their touch felt so intimate and comforting and wonderful and, damn him. His blue eyes were twinkling with an honest plea that she found impossible to deny.

Padma smiled compliantly and nodded. "Okay, George."

"Yeah," he grinned, "atta girl."

Her insides fluttered at his boyish expression and suddenly she felt sheepish. Embarrassed. She jerked the love potion away and cupped it close to her chest.

"Yes, well," Padma said hurriedly, "I guess I should be off."

"Wait," he said, striding as close as he could get without touching her, "if you don't mind me asking, why exactly do you want to get her a love potion? It's not exactly something someone gets for somebody holed up in a hospital."

She gasped softly at how near he was, avoiding his eyes and staring straight at his suit pocket. He watched her bite her lip as she held back a giggle.

"Mmm…it's kind of an inside thing," Padma said with a jovial glimmer in her brownish-gray irises, "I don't know if you'd understand…"

"Oh?" Somehow, he knew she was going to tell him anyway.

"One night in our sixth year," she said, "Parvati and I got into a fight in the hallway after our last class of the day. Seamus had just broken up with her via a very brief, very insensitive note scrawled on a piece of notebook paper. They had been quarreling for weeks…both of them equally to blame for their arguments. Parvati seemed so hurt, but I was so tired consoling yet another one of her bloody breakups and decided to give her some real advice. I told her that she needed to be more serious and less air-headed if she ever wanted to hold down a real relationship." Padma laughed, her eyes brimming with nostalgia. "She got _so_ mad. Before we knew it, we were yelling at each other…making a complete scene.

And I told her, 'well maybe I should just get you some fucking love potion so you can guarantee yourself a man.'"

Her distant expression let George know she was completely gone now, lost in her own little memory. Basking in it. He didn't want to ruin it, so he remained silent. Besides. He enjoyed her breath on his chest and how the air between them reverberated when she spoke.

"We were glowering at each other so fiercely and…and then," Padma continued, her grin wider than ever, "…we just started laughing. No, not laughing—screaming with hysteria! It was the most absurd thing…oh merlin, you should've been there. Afterwards, we went to the library and just huddled in a corner, just gossiping and being silly and acting just like sisters do…driving Madam Pince mad.

It was irony…such, such irony. How an ugly fight could've led to some of the most good-spirited moments I've ever shared with Parvati…kind of silly, huh?"

He smiled knowingly and shook his head. He had had his own fair share of similar stories once upon a time.

"Not at all," George replied with a wink, "so I suppose you wanted to buy her a love potion to remind her of that night?"

"Yes," nodded Padma, "I had walked all throughout Diagon Alley, looking for something to place by her bedside, and flowers and cards just seemed so pointless. Then I saw that big pink heart display in your window and those shiny bottles and I remembered it was Valentine's Day and how it was Parvati's favorite holiday and goodness, it just seemed so so _so _perfect. I just thought that if maybe I could show her one of those gaudy pink bottles, she might snap out of whatever it is she's in right now."

Her tone was trembling. She was still smiling.

George looked at her, and this time really _looked_ at her. He looked at how she stood short compared to him even in her pumps, how she was elegantly carved and petite and so contrasting against his tall, gangly figure. He looked at her face, fit with fine, dark eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a slightly aquiline nose holding a tiny shimmering silver stud. Her hair was jet black and pulled tightly back into a bun, save for some rebellious, wavy tendrils at the front. Her pencil skirt was so authoritative, so professional. Her coat hugged her figure. She was just so prim and proper, so neat and tidy…so entirely different from him and in those eyes, those exotically colored eyes, her sadness was the same as his. He now knew fully why he wanted to talk to her. It was a plethora of reasons, really. She was wistful and pretty and standing all by herself in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes holding a love potion, thinking about her sister, her _twin_ sister, whom she didn't know whether or not would be around for much longer.

Part of him was relieved and even happy that there was someone out there who was feeling some of what he had been feeling for so long now, but part of him wanted this person standing right in front of him to not feel like that at all, because it was a damned horrible feeling. It was complete murder to be reminded every day that half of one's self is gone, because George honestly believed he had shared a brain, a heart, with…

"Padma," George clutched the young woman's shoulders firmly, earning a flinch and puzzled expression from her in return, "I just want you to know—"

His voice died suddenly. He was at a loss for words, looking at her. Though now, he wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes became blurry with memories, memories of two young boys, scampering around a Quidditch pitch. Memories of two young boys whispering to each other in a corner. Memories of two young boys laughing and scheming and grinning identical grins and finishing each others' sentences.

Memories of a face with distant laughter imprinted on it, slowly fading.

He swore he could have died right there. He swore he deserved to as well. It couldn't have been worth it or just for one to live without the other. It wasn't right. George's legs began to buckle.

He felt something warm and smooth on his face, and it steadied him. The fogginess of his vision subsided and he was brought back to reality. Padma had reached out and touched him, a look of empathy to match the one he had given her earlier.

"I understand," she whispered, "and I'm sorry. Thank you."

With that, she gave him a kiss on his cheek. It was tender and made him feel livelier than he had felt in a long time. Padma stepped back, slipping the love potion into her purse. He was speechless as he watched her receding form head towards the door.

Before she left, she turned around, a thoughtful look etched on her face.

"Fred must've been proud to have a brother like you." she said. Then she opened the door and walked out of his shop.

As he heard the tinkle of the bell, George suddenly regained his ability to talk.

"Wait!" he shouted, running out behind her. She glanced back to see his cheerful, boyish self staring her down.

"I think Parvati will be all right," he said to her in reassurance, "I know she will be all right."

No look of sadness followed. No hopeless, "how do you know?" escaped her lips.

Padma could only smile.


End file.
